Christmas Sucks
by CretianStar
Summary: Molly didn't always hate Christmas and Sherlock likes to see her smile, after all she saved his life. Undoubtedly fluffy and cutesy. One Christmassy fanfic just for you guys! (Some minor language; naughty swear)


A/N: Nauseatingly fluffy, based on an amalgamation of being single for Christmas, Bridget Jones and snippets of Love Actually.

Unbeta'd and written hurriedly before bed, if mistakes PM me to note them please :)

Merry Christmas

* * *

><p>Christmas sucks.<p>

For Molly, the normally most upbeat person in the world, she can't handle Christmas

Tom had left her the week before Christmas last year and now her favourite holiday had been tainted.

Before Molly met Tom, even when she was hopelessly in love with Sherlock, she enjoyed Christmas. She had banished the niggling sense of loneliness as she chattered mindlessly to Toby on Christmas Eve before she made the long drive to her mother's. She had smiled brightly at her cousins, all happily married and she played with the children that tore around the house, high on sugar and the notion that Santa had gifted their most wanted presents. She made jokes over dinner and wore the silly paper hat, giggling at the jokes.

She had been ecstatic when she finally had Tom with her family one Christmas. Gone was the strange sense of being pitied and she finally felt like she fitted in as her goofy tall boyfriend (not fiancé then) helped her mother balance plates and gave airplane rides to all the youngsters. The thrill he gave her when he brushed her back was not the same electric shock that Sherlock's slight touch gave her once but Molly had long since extinguished her hope for Sherlock.

Then when he left she had been heartbroken.

She had almost elected not to go to her mothers. She would rather deal with her festive flat on her own with Toby than face those pitying cousins with their sad looks and "It'll be okay Molly." She was 33 for fuck's sake and she'd been dumped by Meat Dagger.

She had gone in the end though. Going later than usual so she only made it for pudding and lamely blamed the traffic for her delay. She handed out her gifts, each brightly wrapped with pretty bows, wrapped long before Tom had made his excuses. It would be after Christmas that Molly discovered Tom spent his Christmas in the arms of his secretary, thank god. The smile was artificial and her eyes sad but her mother, an absolute angel kept her busy in the kitchen. She'd stopped Cousin Elsie prying, and Aunt Imogen with her well hidden barbs from making too many comments. Her mother had shooed away the children when they asked why Aunt Molly was sad and she held her daughter when her hands shook peeling the parsnips. She hugged her amazing youngest daughter tightly while her frame was wracked with sobs and she cursed men to the heavens that they could be this callous before Christmas.

Molly was sat between her mother and her brother who also made his guard dog status clear to the extended family and after a few tense moments when Aunt Imogen came over forgetful and asked "Wasn't Tom supposed to be here?" Molly sunk back into mindless oblivion. Her body worked on autopilot, fork to plate, scoop food, fork to mouth, chew food, swallow. Repeat.

Molly had warred with making herself scarce after washing up the plates but her mother's kind smile made her realise she only needed to speak to elect members of her family. Such as her mum, brother and her adorable nieces who were old enough to know what happened and wise enough to know not to speak about it. In fact Grace and Charlotte babbled enough about their favourite film to cover any silences. When Elsie made another _innocent_ comment, aimed at Molly indirectly, it was Grace that tugged Molly to the floor to her show her the latest toy left by Santa, a journal that opened when you spoke into it.

Molly loved her nieces forever after that Christmas.

But this year the holiday was still tainted and she looked miserably around her flat. December 21st and it remained undecorated. She refused this year. Tom had ruined Christmas decorations for her. She felt the anger well in her stomach which she fought to stamp down, she couldn't so much as look at a snowman without wanting to shove it up the insufferable man's backside.

Lacking Christmas cheer Molly quickly divested herself of clothes and wrapped herself up in flannel pyjamas and resolved to stay on the sofa and avoid all Christmas movies.

It was December 23rd when Sherlock came to her flat unexpectedly. At first he thought he'd broken into the wrong flat as it was so alarmingly dour but clocking the cat ornaments on the mantelpiece he knew he'd got it right. Quick calculations in his head reminded him of the date and he looked at the depressing flat with a confused expression. 2am with two days until Christmas and not a single bauble to be seen.

Shrugging, he knew Molly would be awake in like 6 hours which gave him a chance for his mind palace and maybe a nap because this case could take a while. (John had drummed into him that even if a case was a 7.5 or over he needed to eat and sleep, even minimally). Sherlock swung his Belstaff over a kitchen chair and rested on the sofa, propping himself up against her mountain of pillows before pulling the Afghan over him. Eyes closed he worked his way through the case in his head.

When Molly woke up she barely even clocked Sherlock on her sofa, he'd become a regular occurrence in her flat when he was disabling Moriarty's network that she'd grown used to his random visits.

"Good morning Molly." Sherlock's rich voice made her turn and she nodded sleepily. "Why are you not decorating this year?" He gestured to her bare flat and she shrugged.

"Not worth the money." She said through pursed lips and began to make tea for the pair of them. Looking at her tired state the annotations flickered around her body and with some slight conjecture on his part Sherlock came to saddening conclusion that Meat Dagger had ruined Christmas for her.

"You can't allow one foolish man to ruin Christmas for you Molly." Sherlock stood, dusting off his suit trousers before standing next to her at the kitchen counter. Molly opened her mouth to argue but Sherlock saw the resignation in her eyes and she looked back down to the mug.

"He already has. Running off with that tart." She ground her teeth and dumped sugar into the cup.

"She's left him already Molly and they're not worth how much happiness you feel over Christmas." He said gently but Molly brushed off the care by spinning towards the fridge, snatching the milk from the shelf.

"Well it's a little late for that sentiment Sherlock." She snapped and the milk swilled as she angrily slopped it in. She stilled only when Sherlock's hands held hers, forcing the carton on the side and dropping the spoon from the other.

"Molly…"

"No! You don't have to deal with it Sherlock! Your parents love you regardless and so what your brother's a little bit of a hot head, he runs the government, he has that right! But you, YOU, don't have to deal with cousins and aunts wondering why you're not married yet. You didn't have to sit through snide comments, saying what a shame Tom couldn't make it and don't worry Molly plenty more fish in the sea. I am nearly 35 Sherlock and I am alone. Toby is getting old and I don't want to be alone anymore. I'm sick of coming home to my empty flat and reheating a ready meal for one. I don't want to do it anymore Sherlock…" She broke off into tears and before he had registered his actions Sherlock was holding her tightly to his chest. He listened to her broken sobs, words punctuated with gasps for air as tears streamed down her face.

"I don't want any more wedding or anniversary stories shoved under my nose. I can't do it anymore Sherlock. I don't wanna see another baby scan and hear a comment about body clocks ticking. I don't want the little kids in my family asking whether I'm going to have a baby because 'it will make you happy Aunt Molly'."

He stroked her back in soothing motions that were hauled from the depths of his shrivelled sentimental side and kept his other arm tightly around her waist until her tears subsided.

"Don't apologise Molly." He pre-empted as she opened her mouth, eyes watery. "It will be okay." Without warning he pressed a swift kiss to her forehead and settled her at the kitchen table. Sherlock didn't give her a chance to speak as flicked her speakers to life and unChristmassy Take That filled the miserable little kitchen with some hope of life. Sherlock made the tea and set to locating her frying pan. He rummaged through the fridge and came up trumps with four eggs, he also scouted some bread and deeming it okay he began to make a small breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast.

"I didn't think you could cook." She hiccupped and rubbed her eyes.

"I elected to let John think that so I wouldn't have to regularly cook for the pair of us." Sherlock explained, back turned as he buttered the toast. He served with a flourish for the pair of them and filled her in on the progress he was making on the case.

Feeling buoyed by Sherlock's unusual but gratifying behaviour Molly went to work a little calmer and even accepted her mother's invitation without too much bitterness. She agreed to drive down Christmas Eve and spend the night in her old bedroom, and she could hear the happiness in her mother's voice.

When Molly did reach her mother's house, a three hour drive away, she pasted her smile on which became genuine when Charlotte and Grace tore out of the front door, Frozen outfits on and Tiaras jammed on their heads. Their excited chatter made her laugh as they each carried bags of presents to the front door while her angel of a brother hefted her suitcase. She greeted Imogen and Elsie politely and hugged her mother tightly.

"I say Molly I didn't think you had it in you." Elsie's voice later called over the hubbub, temporarily silencing it.

"Meaning?" Molly tried not to be as icy in her tone.

"I didn't think you'd get another boyfriend so quickly." Elsie's eyes narrowed at the blank look on Molly's face but she was saved by her mother calling her from the kitchen. She just opened the swing door to be greeted by two figures instead of one.

"Sherlock." She hissed, the screech dying in the realisation Elsie would be listening.

"Darling can you please see if I've left the blender in the shed. Sherlock dear why don't you go with her?" Molly stomped outside with the detective obediently following the petite woman.

"What are you doing here?!" She growled, ramming the shed door shut behind her.

"You didn't want to be alone, I'm not letting you be alone." His calm delivery almost mollified her.

"Boyfriend?"

"I never explicitly stated, but when …Elsie… suggested it I merely smiled." Molly feels different emotions well up in her at once; anger at Sherlock, annoyance, grumpiness, and most of all happiness. The absurdity of the situation made her giggle.

"Thank you. I think? Does my mother…"

"Well I had to call Mrs Hooper and tell her I was coming in advance, with you being so busy at work, I knew you'd probably have forgotten." His deadpan words make her smile again and she's hugging him.

"Thank you Sherlock." She grinned up at him. "You know something?" He raises an eyebrow in answer. "It's Hooper tradition to wear a Christmas jumper through dinner." Her smile turned wicked and he glared at her.

"For you Hooper I will comply. But you'll owe me." He crossed his arms briefly. But then he looked down at Molly. "Do you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?"

"That will totally be down to you Sherlock." Molly hummed, "I'd bet my last penny that Elsie will try to sell it as a story later but if you want." She shrugs and the awkwardness is palpable.

"Well from what I've seen of Elsie, I think she'll explode long before then. I propose we make this a game Doctor Hooper." He gave her a lopsided grin, eyes full of mirth. "Let's see how long we can fool everyone."

"Not my mother Sherlock." Molly warned.

"Oh no, in all honesty I told your mother you were upset and that I wanted to join you for Christmas to which she happily agreed!" Sherlock explained dismissively and shrugged when Molly shook her head.

"We have a deal though. Let's do this Sherlock."

So they held hands out of the shed and they made light jokes when they helped Molly's mum cook, he gave piggy back rides to Charlotte, Grace and the other mass of children. He fielded obtrusive questions from Imogen and even wore that hideous Christmas jumper. He bit his tongue against deductions on family members and squeezed Molly's hand every time she looked pensive. He wiped away gravy from the corner of her mouth halfway through dinner and gave into the urge to kiss her quickly, much to the disgust of the children. He almost turned beetroot when Molly's hand rested on his thigh unconsciously and he thought of science formulas when she sat on his lap through the Queen's Christmas Speech. He saw the moment when she stopped acting and thinking of her next move and when it became unconscious to her (it was when he was juggling sprouts to impress Grace). He felt contented when she fell asleep on his chest, the pair on the pouffe next to the Christmas tree.

He did it all for Doctor Molly Hooper, just so she wouldn't think Christmas sucked.


End file.
